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    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    she dreams a champagne dream || spear, birthing
    #3
    Antonia
    She dreams a champagne dream; strawberry surprise, pink linen and white paper.
      It is not long before he is near, with the raw masculinity of his features lit by flickering flames - they are undeniably vibrant and bright, with warmth and light filtering into the cavern and filling the once dark crevices of jagged pumice and ore. Her heart is still for a moment in her chest (almost disbelieving that he is here, standing before her), before thundering raggedly against the confinement of its cage, kept at bay only by the curving bone of her ribs as it threatens to burst forth from her breast.

      He had been wrought from her side by the pure energy of his newfound magic, and even now, she can feel the dull fluttering of jealousy stirring within the pit of her belly blending with the overwhelming delight washing over her. It is not unlike the dull roar of the ravenous sea, lapping hungrily at the shoreline behind him, while her heart pines for him, longing to be the match that had lit the fire in his belly. Alas, she is not, but she does not fault him for seeking out his sister in the aftermath - she knew well of their bond, admired it even (her own brother and sister were wild and unwieldy wanderers; she barely knew either of them), and so, she understood.

      It did not quell the loneliness when he would inevitably pull away from her in the pale light of morning, the softness of his kiss lingering on her skin even hours or days later. Before the fire had sought him out and filled him with its unpredictability, he had spent many a day roaming the many islands encapsulating the volcano with her, and in between fervent kisses and secrecy shared, she had begun to fall in love with him. Beneath the stoic exterior, he was tender, kind, and thoughtful - he had a deep, unshakable wisdom about him that drew her to him, like a delicate moth to the very burning flame that had made itself a part of him.

       How fitting it is, for her to feel so passionately for the fire that could inevitably be her ruin.

       He is in awe, his expression one of hopeful uncertainty becoming enthrallment and immense pride and she, herself, is glowing - and not at all because of the burning ember so near to her. She cannot suppress the faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, while her dark, endless gaze peers out at him from behind a tangle of pale tresses, dampened with sweat and draped over her forehead. 

       Beside her, their son and daughter (such flawless perfection, each of them). She is young, perhaps too young to be blessed by motherhood, to feel the weight of their bodies leave her untouched womb, to bear the inevitable marking of a birth-giver - and yet, it is suiting to her. As suiting as the age-old wisdom of his two-toned gaze, dark and mysterious, but with a gleam of tenderness that she could not and would not ever tire of.

       They are beautiful, he murmurs, and her mouth twitches - she is all too aware; if she were any more filled with pride she might burst! You are beautiful, he whispers against her cheek, and her heavy, long lashes close over the abyss of her searching gaze, savoring the warmth of his touch across her cheek, and gently she presses her own mouth to his jaw, placing kisses where a deep ridge of muscle covers the hardened bone beneath. 

       She is quiet, absorbing the beauty of the moment. She has missed him, so terribly, but her soft breathing and haphazard kisses gracing the surface of his skin is enough to tell him of her yearning. Their daughter and son give her strength, nestled tightly against the hearth of their chests, heartbeats pounding in tandem against their precious ears - fluttering and flickering, while their wide, curious eyes observe the floating orbs of fiery splendor with captivating wonderment. When she finally does speak, it is a hushed murmur against his jaw, reverberating into the tangled mess of his mane.

      "What should we call them?"
    Lavender and cream, fields of butterflies, reality escapes her.
    She says that love is for fools who fall behind.


    @[Spear + Spark]


    Messages In This Thread
    she dreams a champagne dream || spear, birthing - by Antonia - 07-29-2017, 07:29 PM
    RE: she dreams a champagne dream || spear, birthing - by Antonia - 07-29-2017, 10:24 PM



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